Filed under: Matters of the Heart.
Yesterday was a day from the pits of Hades. So much so that I’ve actively begun planning my much needed summer vacation. I don’t know who’s going and if Brazil may even be the place to plan for but…regardless I gotta get the heck up outta here for a minute! I’d been up most of the night reflecting on the things that had transpired hours earlier. Spent a little bit of the insomnia penning thoughts over a blank page that I thought would be my next post…but I’ll be damned if I lost the file, lol. Everything happens for a reason and some things are better left understood than said. I’ll just spend this entry talking a little about what I’ve learned. If you get something good out of my sharing then hey…all the bettah!
Family Ties
The flame broiling answer to the question that has plagued my life for past 8 or 9 months has finally emerged. Yes, there is a point where you have to pull away from downward spiraling people and situations. Even if they are family. I know I’m being vague but the bottom line to it all is that I have to know when enough is enough, if not for me for the little souls I’ve been entrusted to protect. I now know where that line has to be drawn and more importantly, how to stand behind it with authority and trust in my own decisions without remorse or guilt.
People & Purpose
We sat a alongside a dark church. It was a one way street. I was tired of driving in circles with him. Literally and figuratively. What I thought would be just the escape from my other drama turned out to be one of those enlightining situations. And honestly, I really wasn’t in the mood to think about or be enlightened on shyt after the day I’d had. I just wanted to have fun and enjoy the moment but dealing with B was never that simple. There was some kind of intellectual tie that went beyond what I could understand or grapple with most times. As I listened to his attempts to explain his why’s and what for’s, I blinked slow. In the midst of that one blink I’d opened my eyes to realize that purpose outweighs any personal agenda, and it will have it’s way whether we like it our not. I was tired of fighting purpose for the sake of my own pleasures and wants. The phuked up part about all of it is that I’d manage to get emotionally intertwined in the process while somehow lying to myself through it all. At that moment I had to make my choice. To either do what I knew I should be doing, or to do what I wanted to do for the sake of a temporary fix that played no part in the ultimate purpose of he and I. I’d known all along…everything he was telling me and trying his best to communicate. I was mad at myself for not following the rule book of things a man must do to win your heart. A set of fictitious rules that by believing made the ongoing lie to myself easy, “He’s not do anything he needs to do to win the attention and energy he has of you right now so it aint shyt. Ya’ll are just cool.” See, there was a concrete formula to it all in my world – and if that formula wasn’t followed then it nor he wasn’t for me and I could enjoy the situation for whatever I wanted it be, just nothing heavy. I was supposed to be in control and know the deal with my feelings at all times. But, disguised as a friendship with benefits, I was totally swept off my feet by someone that didn’t do shyt I wanted them to and everything that I didn’t want them to do. An unexpected slip up of choice that we both knew was there but chose to avoid addressing. One person not knowing what to do with it because of the stage they were at in life, and the other knowing what to do but not having the will enough to actually pull away. I’d realized at that moment that it is possible to fall for someone because of who they are, which could very well have nothing to do with what they do or how they do it. A wierd awakening but I think I handled it well. Normally if I don’t get things the way I want from situations or people I bail out. Which technically speaking, I should have ran the other way a long time ago! lol But B has taught me to do the exact opposite by growing with the people in my life I’ve connected to for reasons I don’t know of – only that they are for good. Learning to understand the purpose behind the person and role I play in it all was a key lesson I needed to learn. The epiphany was clear even it did come through periodic moments of silence and a game of monopoly at 1:30 in the morning…
Now I know that after yesterday I can breathe a lot better knowing that I got everything out of it that I needed to continue on my path of growth and improvement. I quietly backed away from a toxic family crisis with the big picture in mind. I was reminded of what’s most important in my life and that “I” deserve to be on that same high priority list. I accepted purpose over agenda and put myself aside because I didn’t want to lose the friend that at times drove me batty! I learned that maturity, support and understanding is best demonstrated through action and assertive belief. I won’t lie, I kinda bugged out in the car on the way home and I know he thought I was trippin haha. But I also knew that I’d wake up today with the same friend as yesterday because he understood the purpose behind the person and her abstract thoughts…and loaned just enough trust to show her a truth that was ultimately a part of both of thier growth whether she wanted to see it or not. Can’t be mad at that!
(Thanks for the soundtrack. Radiohead kept the pen fly! You rock J )
-black girl
Filed under: SEX
I bet you’re saying, “Damn black girl…what in dee heyall?” Haha. Be easy. I told you peeking into my world was an interesting ride, just hope you like it! This week was definitely one of those chocked full of things to get done and make happen. I’m still not quite sure how hittin the swinger’s spot ended up on the list but like I said before…With the kind of dichotomic company I keep, there’s no tellin’ where I might end up from one week to the next. So long as it’s not jail or the unemployment spot I think I can deal, lol.
So Black Girl’s latest adventure worth mentioning takes her (that would be me) to the swangin swanglang’s club. Whose bright idea was this? Certainly not mine but a welcomed one at the suggestion of my flavor of the moment, B. B would be the cat I mentioned a few entries back who ‘handed me the book to the spell yet had succeeded at mastering it on me.’ Yea he’s the one that I fume on one minute and joke with the next. The one that reads this blog on the regular to keep me honest. He’s kinda one of those folks that are in your life for a specific purpose that you can’t quite figure out right away. A friend you so happen to boinky boink. You just know there’s something to learn through it all and try to remain open. Money question of the week: Would hitting the swingers joint be overstepping the friends that do friends boundry though? Maybe I’m being a little too open? Um *whistles* nat aahhh…cuz the rabbit hole always goes deeper. We cool.
Checked out the spot on a Wednesday night. It was a welcomed slow pace for me. If my memory serves me right, the first time I saw a group of people getting down my life changed forever and that was along time ago. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see the very thing that forever tainted the frog in me! My already perverted and sometimes sexually obsessed way of thinking was ultimately pushed over the edge never to be seen the same again. Nothing has fazed me much except for that nasty two chicks one cup shyt. OMG I wouldn’t be lyin if I told you I had to clean up my own puke after that which was real nice. But back to the point….lol
This was a pretty decent upscale gig. The front area looked like a club, stripper pole in the middle of the dance floor. TV’s strategically placed around the mirrored spot played generic white ppl porn. Ha. Was never too much into that (kind). The next part of the club was right behind the general party area. It was a little quieter, deep red lighting and plush seating. We huddled it out in velvety soft chairs in the corner chatting it up. Casing the spot. That was before frisky bob wanted to go over to phase three, which would be the indoor pool and jacuzzis, cabanas, boom boom rooms and all lol. Only thing…no clothes allowed past the entry point! I so did not plan on getting undressed in any form – my panties and bra didn’t even match but I rolled wit it. We exchanged our business casual attire for towels, laughs and a locker. I couldn’t believe I was doing it but by that time I was feeling the Goose buzz and really had no objections.
We get past the point of no return and ended up taking ownership of one of three jacuzzis. Across from us was a really chunky black chick with her really tiny black man. Lol. He was standing in front of her as she sat on the edge of the tub but that didn’t cover much. There was some real shyt going on and I was trying hard not to be a kid with the point and giggle, but I couldn’t help myself at one point. Another scenario involved a guy sitting at the side of the pool watching a couple get their freak leak on across from him. He (did things to himself) watched them close before making his move to join in, upon which he got REJECTED!!! LMAO. So messed up and hella funny. The couple was like nahhh I’m cool. Imagine the horror of getting dissed like that. Haah, I’m still laughing. What a loser.
I met a chick, forget her name. I just remembered her Yves Saint Laurent thigh high boots that ended up being our topic of conversation. The boots were sick. Black with a red wedged heel. The bright color hand embroidery that traced up her shin to her thigh made them look more like art pieces. Which is probably why my eyes dripped with envy when I saw them. We chatted for a quick minute about how she’d gotten them somewhere in Europe before a short, stalky, hairy white dude approached us. Just happened he was her mate and was moving in for the kill. Uhhh no thanks. We got the hell on and did our own thing.
The experience ended up being cool though. We both digged it. I’m just wondering what will happen when flavor wants to start bringing other peeps into the equation. So long as he understands the real shyt that lives inside of Pandora’s box (at least mine anyway), I guess I have no problem with him peeking inside… just a lil. (there’s that sinister grin you love!)
I need to find a pair of those frickin boots.
-black girl
Filed under: Peculiar People
If there’s one thing on this grand planet that sets my Vicki’s a blaze it’s LYING! Thus my topic for today. 🙂
Ok everybody fibs, and I try to only do it when necessary or in a matter of life and death lol. But lying for the hell of it or for a personal gain that really doesn’t make a lot of sense isn’t me. My long/short term memory can be garbage and I’d just look the fool later when I can’t regurgitate the carefully constructed lie I told you two weeks before. Not a good look. So if you really want to piss me off or spend the next weeks or months wondering why I disappeared on your wack azz like a cloud of smoke, tell me a lie! Not just any lie though…tell me one that is so unnecessarily steeewpid that you want to shrink away in embarrassment as soon as it leaves your lips because you know that shyt was dumb as hell. If you’re gonna do what you do, be good at it!!
Friends, if you would like to study the art of lying in raw and organic form, come to Atlanta and kick it with me for a week. Like herds of bison booking at top speed through the Serengeti, liars move across the Atlantan plains doing it big and doing it realll slick. Lying herds can often be seen grazing together at Lenox Mall, mating each other in groups or pairs, fighting for territory that’s not even thiers, and there are some that just prefer shitting in each other’s domain for the hell of it. And um, I hate to be the one to break it to you first but spotting these beasts can be quite difficult. There are so many different breeds and hybrids of liars that one can become easily confused or overwhelmed with it all. Let a sister help you out by taking the time to identify the first few types of liars one should be leery of while Safari’n it up in the A…( and don’t forget your bug spray)
The Insecure Imbecile
For whatever deep rooted reason this person is totally uncomfortable in their own skin without any true sense of self. They live so far from the truth that even they believe the stories and smokescreens they puff out of thier azz. The Insecure Imbecile would lie about a dead cat in the street if it means distracting you from who they really are. Their lies serve as escape from a reality that they can’t really deal with themselves. What’s really sad? They are the worst liars of the bunch and use the power of the lie for stupid shyt. So when you’re listening to another one of their made up stories about how they saw three aliens having sex behind Wendy’s, pour yourself a nice tall glass of “What the fuck?” while questioning your reasons for having them around you in the first place.
To expose or identify this type of liar ask them one question: Who ARE you? They’ll most likely respond with a, “What?” followed by a question to your question. If you have the patience to sit around and listen to them attempt to describe who they really are with more lies, make sure you grab your tooth brush, clean underpants and a magazine or two. You’ll be listening to the great runaround for lord knows how long because they truly don’t know. Whether or not you wanna stick around for them to figure it out is up to you. (see example below)
The Industry Rat
Not to be mistaken with a groupie, the industry rat doesn’t run around looking for an easy cake walk on someone else’s bill. They consider themselves celebrities in their own mind and will do anything and everything to convince you of this warped truth. Their stories usually consist of, “Having lunch with Russell Simmons to talk about the new Phat Farm condom,” or “Being stalked in the mall by a deranged myspace fan thus having to cut their million dollar shopping spree for their Miami trip with Rick Ross short.” These individuals most likely keep a thick ass photo album in their truck or purse packed full of Polaroid snaps with any celebrity you can think of. This is their holy grail of validation to remind them AND you that their album is dropping soon, thier calendar is in production and their new edition Range Rover really is in the shop. Industry rats are usually loud or boisterous and have a story to tell about themselves and their fabulous fictional celebrity dripped lives on a daily basis.
To expose or identify this type of liar do one of the following: (1) Get a hold of their look book and hold a lighter flame to it. Their eyes should bulge and you should begin to see the markings of Christ appear on their hands and feet. (2) Wait until you are in a social setting with a group of friends to ask, “Hey [name], so when did you say your album was dropping again? 2012?” Then watch them squirm and babble. (3) When they start on one of their celebrity stories cut them off with, “Oh that’s funny. I was just doing lines of coke with them yesterday and they didn’t mention anything about that.” Their eyes should daunt confusion, jealousy, wonderment or all of the above. Before they can get an edge in pull out your phone and say, “Man. I can’t believe they didn’t tell me that. Let me call them right now and get in thier grill.”
The D*** Slinging Dog
My personal favorite but one of the worst. These types live, eat, sleep and die for the vajayjay and are willing to tell whoever whatever to get what they want. The key to understanding and dealing with the DSD is to understand that it’s not about getting the juice box and enjoying its savory flavor for them. It’s more about their desire to conquer and slay as many ‘bitches’ as possible. To do this requires skill, a gang of lies, and if you know like I know, two or three ‘spots’ around the city to keep things in heavy rotation. For them, women are a sport and recreation of choice. The more money they have the more desireable they become and the more options and illusions they can create to get what they want. And although I hate to say it, the DSD is usually the one that’s considered to be a hot commodity amongst us ladies thus making it easy for them target and lure their prey. We usually peep them first and ruffle our feathers in thier direction. The DSD is handsome, financially stable or of high status, charming and generous with some element of his life (just not all). You usually don’t figure out which element was yours until he’s already reeled you in, slayed you and did the old drop and replace because thrill of the sport has worn off. You just better pray that the smack down is wack lest you become his slobbering slave unable to move on.
I will save ‘ways to identify the dick slinging dog’ for another blog on another day cuz the list through my lense is wildly long and hella funny. Getting caught up in lie after lie with these types becomes an obvious issue that most black girls in my city cannot ignore. For me, identifying serial slayers isn’t the problem. My problem would be the dumbing down factor – playing silly for the sake of enjoying their stroke as much and as often as possible. It’s much easier to pick and choose, deal and keep it cordial without putting them on blast. In the words of my homie Pippi, “I’d like to think I’m smarter than something that eats its own throw up.” But am I that much brighter for thinking that way?
And the truth shall set you free.
-black girl
Filed under: Dirty Talk
Sometimes I hate that I grapple with the temptation of over thinking $hit so much. Some days you just don’t want to be all that deep. Shallow girl in shallow world was a much more appealing role on this particular adventure….
Last weekend we celebrated panama’s birthday for the second week in a row. When I think about it, I really do have a select group of pretentious beyotches for friends. A plus I suppose depending on your perception. Panama’s crush pie had the most adorable black and pink invitations hand made for her. First celebration consisted of dinner at the Geisha House before heading over to the velvet room. I was so tired the next day. Second part took place at Platinum 21. Relax doe…tis not what it looks like! Panama’s still a baby, just turning 23. She waits tables there to put herself through school. She’ll be graduating this year. Go p!
If you live in Atlanta and you party even half of the time you’ve been to a strip club. In fact, women go just as much as men do. It can be hard to tell what women are there for what. You have your lesbians who have no problem disclosing their preference solely through their vibe. Then there’s the undercover lady hump lovers. There are also the chicks that go with their significant other because they understand the true essence of the game. You got the night crawlers that usually travel in two or more cuz they plan on tag teaming a baller later that night for the right amount. *smh* Then you got…me! Lol. I’m pretty much comfortable in any environment because where I am doesn’t dictate who I am. I have no problem with ‘strip club’ holding a place on the list of things I do for fun. As weird as it sounds, this is where I could get in my shallow moments and just a have a good time in a shallow world.
Burning question of the week, “Black girl are you a vajayjay lover?” That answer would be no. BUT! I’ll say that I’m familiar with all types of lifestyles and understand their correlation amongst each other. You’re only as good as your reach and must be able to tap into any resource out there if the plan calls for it. Because of this I’m very comfortable and may in fact ‘confuse you’ if you don’t know the complex me for what it is. My problem is, “Why the phuck do dudes wanna turkey gobble when they see you having a good time in the strip club with your homegirls?” That’s whack amd I need for them to cease immediately. You should be spending money with the women that put the work in for ya’ll every night even when they don’t feel like it. I did not put on a break away thong and jump in a pool of Victoria’s Secret body spray for you to plant spit droplets in my ear because the music’s so loud. Got the wrong gal!
I feel asleep earlier that evening waiting for the hour to get lost and meet up with the girls. I didn’t show up until 1:45 and felt kinda bad but they weren’t trippin. Panama was already beautifully lifted and enjoying life for the night when I got there. As always her outfit was on point. I donned sneakers, a white tank, jeans and a jacket. You know how that goes. It was almost 2:00 in the morning and heels were not on my menu for the night and besides, it’s a strip club. Earlier that evening I had put an offer for PB (the one I met a few weeks ago) to come and hang with the crew. It would be our first time seeing each other since meeting initially. He brought two of his homies and they were tasty cakes in a two pack. One chocolate and one vanilla. They’d beat me there and were sitting along side the upper level of the spot. PB was talking to a young lady who looked as if she had big black wings for eyelashes. He shooed her with his nods when he saw me coming his way and she flapped past me empty handed. I slid into the chair next to him.
“Hey dude. How long you been here?”
“About 30 min or so. You smell good,” he said.“Thanks. You look nice. Come let’s find my girls,” I said trying to avoid anything suggestive. We were just cool peeps and that’s the best way to truly get to know someone. Without the other stuff involved. We found the crew in the back corner doing how we do. Panama’s crush pie tossed one’s into the air so high ‘the dancers needed a flight ta go n git it’. Lol. I’m too much of a frugal fran to make it rain. The one time I was supposed to I tried to flick from the stack and threw the whole thing at the back wall of the stage subsequently enduring a roaring boooooooo from my crew. I’m just glad I didn’t accidentally hit the naked phat booty girl that I was at least tryna show love to.I didn’t know PB that well and was honestly testing him by bringing him to that element. The mofo failed harder than a 12 year old tryna get to the 3rd grade. I sat down with my girls and he and his guys joined the party sitting across from us. I was peeping his demeanor in hopes of seeing a thought or two. There was a girl doing her thizzle in front of the girls and I, and of course it’s the performer’s job to make what’s already looking good even better thus getting extra sexy in order to prolong the bill. I looked across and saw PB talking to his homie with one eye on my antics.
Short times were still good ones and I was outta there in an hour. Kissed the kittens goodbye. PB walked me to my car. Leaned in to hug goodnight but his grip turned tight boxing me in. Held my hips in place and I was forced to look up at him. Prayed he didn’t try to kiss me. Time wasn’t right and I so wasn’t feelin it. My mind was on other things, other persons. His shirt smelled like chanel no. 5 and hot vajayjay. Sparked an image in my mind of some chick doing the “lemme grab your shirt with the crackomyass’ trick on him. Don’t get me wrong, PB is no average cat. Meets every last one of my criteria in terms of being a mate and then some. He’s a damn good catch and I was seriously out of my mind for giving him the cold arm but you never can tell with me. My ability to feel a vibe without external influences is something I value. I would soon find out why he wouldn’t be the guy for me.
“You like women huh?”
“Are you suggesting or asking?” I balked.
“Ha. Asking.” He loosened his grip a lil bit.
“I’m not on the other side if that’s what you’re asking me.”
“You straddle between here and there?” He had an amused/intrigued look going on. Like the conversation was his fresh new box of favorite cookies, his thick eyebrows danced like it was Christmas day.
I paused for a few seconds so my remark would be more profound…
“Wut?”
He picked up on my vibe and quickly added, “I mean, you were enjoying the ladies and having just as much fun as I was in there. I thought there was something I should know.” His words clamored against each other nervously taking a moment for me to digest.
I decided to play with him a bit and ask, “If it’s something you should know I would tell you right?” He nodded yes and I slithered, “Good,” wriggling my way out of his clutch and jingling my keys.
“Oh wait, so you’re gay?” He stood there with his long arms open as if I’d played him to the left.
I laughed and said, “I never said I was you assumed it because I was having a good time homie!”
“That doesn’t make sense. You acted like you like women any man would think that. There’s no need to be undercover.”
Ninja what?!…. I tilted my head and shrugged my shoulders and eased into the driver’s side of my car. Muttered, “So. What,” thinking how fun it was to be at this point in my life. The old me would have cared about his opinions and thoughts. The new me can be on that shallow shyt for the sake of balance sometimes. I was one deuce deuce away from heading home to fresh sheets. Paayceee. If he was smart he’d let this conversation ride for another, more appropriate time and place.
“Oh damn baby it’s like that?” I couldn’t believe he was pressing such a stupid thing. TOTAL turn off. Ilk. He was beginning to sound like the mad rapper in leapord speedo draws. Straight gay and LAME! My stomach started to hurt.
“Nah we good. I’m just tired.” Smiled sweetly and squinted my eyes to illustrate fatigue. Sucked his teeth in response to my sideswipe with a watery mouth and glossed eyes. I didn’t give him anything. I laughed to myself at the thought of how crazy this would drive him. The longer I held on to the key he’d just carved, the more I’d become his object of desire without him even knowing. Was it worth it though? I only spent time exercising the seductive process on men I actually wanted. This fool had thrown himself in the lost and never found category already.
Tapped the steering wheel with my thumbs and whispered, “Night. Call me tomorrow ok?” Put the car in reverse and bounced. We both knew who wouldn’t be answering who’s calls.
The shallow girl in me wanted to say, “I don’t give a rats ass what you think about what I like to have sex with,” but isimmered on the instead thinking of how good it felt to swim in the shallow end for a change.
-black girl.
Filed under: My Work. My Hustle.
Just wanted to send quick kisses to D. Woods, a fellow Atlanta breed. Even when she wasn’t working with the group, D. always had her own initiatives going on. There’s nothing like grindin’ for your own cause and D. has definitely been doing that plus more around our way. Had to show quick love and post the new Danity Kane video. Gotta get it how you live! (especially when you’re a BGITC). Show them how its done. 🙂
-black girl.
Filed under: Altered Beastin' It
I think I left off on Saturday with this blog I’ve grown to hate and love. Its funny going back to read things you’ve written, watching yourself staring right back at you. A beautiful dichotomy that so happens to write….
So my Sunday was pretty cool. For some reason I just couldn’t get up and at em. I think my body was on crash mode, I was forced to ride it out. I was finally up around 11:30 feeling honored that God chose me to live that day. The weather was on point. T-Shirt…flip flops and jeans. A black girl’s Sunday staple. Most of the day was spent riding around with my family just doing girl stuff. We eventually ended up back around the way and decided to hit a movie. We chose “Horton Hears A Who” at Phipps Plaza. While it really wasn’t on my radar to see I must say that it was pretty good. So much so that I think I’m gonna go back and read all of Dr. Seuss’ books. He’s a pretty deep dude! Lol. Anyway, we get there early enough for me to go get everybody seated and then come back for snacks and expensive shit.
The lines weren’t too long but there were a few people around. I chill. I order. I pay and I proceed to go put butter on my popcorn. I’d heard a commotion in my left ear but it was a quiet one, like something that was none of my concern so I ignored…until I realized it was right in my path. Looked at my watch noting the 2 remaining minutes to movie start. The commotion? Some middle-aged white woman. Very polished and refined. She wore a crisp, long sleeve polo button down shirt. She’d draped a fuschia cashmere shawl over it. Her ears dripped with silk lustered gold laced with tiny diamonds. My mouth watered with thier sparkle. Her almost alien looking oval face was flustered as the manager was trying to explain to her why they couldn’t give her $10 in quarters. But forget all that. My main concern: her Marc Jacobs bag was right under the butter…that I needed….so I could get on my way to the Dr. Seuss experience (on time).
I smiled and politely said, “Excuse me.” She shifted her eyes toward me and never stopped blabbing to the manager about whatever she was sayin. I paused before politely but a little more aggressively saying, “Ma’m, excuse me.” A command that this time could not be ignored. When she looked at me I motioned for her to move your purse so I can get my phukin butter please? Dag!
This woman puts her stop sign hand in full effect saying, “You need to wait just a minute.” Straight gangster! By this time super bitch had been mounting up her pink super suit in the back of my mind ready to pop off on que. The lady yelled so loud that people in the lobby skipped a millisecond before continuing about their biz. So if you can see it, here’s me…some white lady’s hand in close proximity of my face…standing in the midst of her echo telling me to who? As my boy B would say, shhhhhhiiiiiiittttttttttt. When that skinny little rich witch moved her hand I man gripped that (I need to go find me one in that color) stupid ass bag and slammed it to the other side of the dispenser (and) THEN proceeded to get my phukin butter. 🙂 She had one of those “I know this little black bitch did NOT just grab my bag and move it let alone look at me.” Looks on her face. She turned her attention away from the manager and faced me to say, “Why do you all have such an AT-TI-TUDE problem?” Every T flicked a single spray of spit into the air. Nasty.
I was so shocked I laughed out loud with my jaw dropped heavy. Still smirking my cheeks I said, “I think I said excuse me twice and what do you mean by you-all?” I could feel the majority black theater staff rallying up in spirit as if silently shouting, “Yea, why?” as they whiped off counters and tilled change around me.
This woman gave me the most intense disgusted look I’d ever seen from someone I didn’t know in my entire life. She needed to say nothing more. Her smirkined statement boiled behind my ears and exploded as a baratone guttered, “BITCH!!!!” The lobby stopped again, but this time for two or three milliseconds. My roar was short but viscious.
When the milliseconds passed I had since gotten my butter and at the point allowed the peek to simmer away quicker than it had come. Pranced my little at-ti-tude having hiney away to enjoy the movie with butter on my popcorn. I was pissed for a hot minute before shaking angry fairy off and returning to the normal me. Had to remind myself of the true origin of ignorance. Unbelievable.
‘she was just mad because my toes were prettier than hers and Helen didn’t work on her feet , lol’
-black girl.
Filed under: Fly and Fabulous
I want to kiss my toes! My new manicurist hooked it up for real. I’m already a week in and these babies still look freshly done. J Special thanks to who I’ve somehow named Helen the Hustler. lol Helen is the big and tall Asian lady that swooped down on me before the wind from the front door could during my emergency visit to the nail spa. I’d peeped Helen’s game early on. First she asked if I wanted to get a massage during my pedicure. “How about deluxe for $10 more?” she’d ask two minutes later. And brought it home with the last and final, “You want your eyebrows done?” LOL! I hated to knock Helen’s hustle but I was good on alladeeabuv. Besides, there’s only one person that does my eyebrows….
(if you wanna know where Helen gets her hustle on in Buckhead email me)
-black girl.
Textin’ Talk…
Me: …but I don’t really date. I don’t really do anything, everybody’s gay and I’m depressed lol
Him: The gay thing is at an all time high
Me: You’re like the third MALE friend that’s said that
Him: So how can you tell?
Me: Beats me I just know. There are people we know that give me the g-vibe but maybe I’m Paranoid
Him: Nah my sister picked up on it and she was only here for a weekend
Me: Scary
Him: These mother fuckers need to stay out my face…all this pussy in town
Me: LMBAO right.
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I know you seen it coming! How could I live in a city with one of the highest concentration of gay blacks without poppin off at the mouth just a little?
Before I get the gloss poppin though, I gotta put the disclaimer out that I am by no means a discriminatory individual. I don’t have a problem with gay people whatsoever and enjoy all of my friendships for the people that I love, our bonds are not based on lifestyle. I do have a problem with men (ok black men in particular) that live heterosexually while stooging classified roles as fucker or fuckee. To be honest with ya’ll, I am absolutely disgusted and upset about it. If I preferred the company of females and lived my life as a lesbian then I may not have too much to say…but would still have to speak on the profound effect this trend turned culture is having not only on myself, but on our community collectively.
Sure everybody’s out there making films that himm n hawh about “The Down Low Brothers” and yada yay. I’m actually pretty sick of the term tagged to identify this particular sector of individuals. It’s saturated our minds and we’ve become somewhat desensitized to it thus not having the ability to feel the sting that we should when it’s mentioned. First off, any man that would be selfish enough to fuck his homeboy and then crawl into bed with me at night is no BROTHER of mine. Secondly, DOWN LOW isn’t low enough if you ask me. I’m laughing at myself right now because I always try not to project a certain kind of woman by living up to the clichés that often times precede my kind. BUT *shaking head* right about now I am that Angry Black Woman that just might knock your head off cuz you egged with that chip sittin high and mighty on her shoulder. Let’s begin shall we? I think we shall. 🙂
Ironically this has been the main topic of discussion amongst my friends, both male and female, for the past month or so. So much so that I said I would blog about it and try my best not to go the hell off while in the process. We all know the numbers and we all know that black women are the leaders in new cases each year. We also know why this is so. What I don’t know is why we look the other way and carry on as if this shit isn’t real. If you didn’t know what the leading cause of death for black women (including African American women) aged 25–34 years was in 2004 then I don’t know what rock you are living under…certainly not Stone Mountain. As the whole issue with men being with other men secretly became more public, little miss nosy as I began probing for more information. Not second hand, and not from TV and movies and other frivilous attempts to filter what’s not being said. I talked to my people. My gay male friends. My home girls that scratched their heads trying to figure out why the men they were dating possessed something that just wasn’t right. My straight homeboy that had to whoop a dude’s ass that mistook him for giving ‘the signal’. My highschool friend whose life has been changed forever because of this. My most enlightening educational sessions have been with my baby cousin. He’s black, fine as wine, 23 and dying of full blown aids as we speak. He was never on the low. In fact, he created an uproar in a family known for it’s keepers of the sacred cloth. Sorry undercovers but he spilled the beans on you. My mouth was on the floor the night I spent time with him browsing through myspace and online. He showed me pages and pages of dudes, that were fine as hell and clearly had ‘straight’ as their orientation BUT were sending him notes wanting to meet up and ‘have fun’ or ‘kick it’. Married men, preacher’s kids, and even a few that I had on my own friends list were among the bunch. Yea. I freaked the heck out. He told me that “they LIKE to fuck raw and don’t really care about anything but the dick in front of them at the moment.” These men had families and friends that from what I could tell HAD NO CLUE.
My mind went back to all of the men I’ve dated and couldn’t quite figure out why I had the iff iff’s about them. I quickly retracted to my current roster at the time to see if I could “Pick em out” or remember something significant. The scaring thing people….I couldn’t tell. None of us can tell and that’s alarming. It’s sad that not only myself but thousands of beautiful eligible women in Atlanta have the odds stacked against us because we’re competing with Men AND Women. I’m to the point now where I question everyone and everything around me while trying not to paralyze my social and even sexual life by assuming that everyone is…you know. I’d be silly to say all men in Atlanta are gay because we all know that not to be true. Plus I have to throw it out there before my phone starts ringing and my homeboys bumrush my crib on some mob shit lol. But you know something? A LOT OF DUDES THAT I SEE OUT HERE ARE. And when your own straight male friends begin complaining about the secret circles then there’s a serious problem. I have so much to say about this and could write for days and years – ultimately boring the hell out of you with my bouts of narcissistic rage. I think I’ve said enough and will just end with this:
Dear Fearful Black Man,
How could you be selfish enough to put our lives at risk for the sake of maintaining your own secrecy and identity? I don’t respect you because you’re destroying our families and our homes in addition to the poverty, drugs, mis-eductaion and sleu of other shit we face. I despise you because you laugh at openly gay men, thus encouraging other young black men facing sexual identity issues to be abstrusely perversed. We’ve sighed and cried lots because of you, feeling like all was not necessarily fair in the game of love. I’m afraid of you because your habits are perpetuating a crisis that’s killing the monarchs responsible for raising this nation on their breasts and hips. Remember your mamma. I gnash my teeth at you because instead of going out in hopes of meeting someone new, we laugh and dance in the corner with our home girls because we peep men like you. I’m angry with you because I have to man up everyday and strong arm my way, because the man that I should be standing strongly behind is standing naked behind you. I’m disgusted with you because of your negligence to truth. ‘Give us us free’ by allowing US to chose whether or not to deal with you. My heart sinks miles because as wives and mothers and sisters, we have put our lives in your hands. But they are hands that cannot be trusted because we don’t know where they’ve been.
If you’re reading this and it pisses you off fantastic! Now go run and tell your other ‘under the radar’ homies that a woman in Atlanta has put you on front street because you weren’t man enough to do it yourselves.
Let there be progress, hope and change. Obama for President!
-black girl.
Filed under: Matters of the Heart.
{The oh so fabulous Paula Michelle and friends kicking it at Snoop video shoot, cutting a fool like real ladies do! If you don’t know about Paula pay attention. Soon you will!}
Wow, this week has been a crazy one indeed. Which explains my slackin on the blogmackin. I toyed with the idea of doing this for that very reason but truth be told, I have to write like I have to breathe. I mean, I write all day but specifically on the creative tip I must do this for me. I’ve realized that if I don’t create I get evil, cranky, pissed off or whatever…back to the losing my mind part…lol.
I swear I don’t know what the hell is going on with me and I can’t put my finger on it. It’s not like a bad thing, kinda uncomfortable, stressful yea. In my personal attempt to figure out WHAT THE HELL is going on, I’ve subsequently retreated to my hiding place. Realistically life isn’t conducive to hiding whenever I want. I speak of hiding in the sense of retreating mentally, slowing down just enough to give myself time to think about…me. If you’ve been reading you already know the deal.
Creature of habit. Comfortable with the concrete and definite. Black and white are my two middle names. I’m working on trading them both in for grey, it gets better. I thought about seeing a therapist to maybe talk things out and get to the bottom of my erratic moods and thought process, inability to focus or whatever but opted to call my granny instead. Graceful and hella fly, my granny puts the D in Diva, the E in Eloquence and the W in wisdom. She’s a fly chick. Even as a little girl I remember her whispering tidbits of wisdom in my ear. She mainly spoke in parables but the old soul in me always knew and was always listening. Anyway I spoke to her this evening. This is for the most part how the conversation went…filled in the blanks so it makes sense to the outside mind.
DELETE DELETE….that shit was kinda boring. Lol
I left the conversation understanding a bit more about my state of mind…I’m changing, I don’t know what the future holds, I’m growing to new heights and I’M SCARED AS SHIT. Yea yea before you say, oh positive thinking begets positives things shut the hell up. I have to say that this IS something positive because out of all the things I’m learning in the process, I’m learning to tell myself the truth. To face it head on and stop ignoring the nagging nip nips at my heels that ultimately drive me to pure psychosis.. See, I’m the kind of chick that wants to know everything, the direction, the details, what’s the plan and how are we getting there and what are the benefits of doing this and why what why how why why and STFU Yo! Bottom line is, I don’t know. And for someone like me that’s a hard pill to swallow. Most days I don’t even know who my next kiss or warm embrace will come from (outside of my offspring of course) J. I don’t know if I’ll ever get married, I don’t know how I will get out of this city if I ever decided to leave. Will I cross over easy when I die? Will God get in my grill for every little lie I told and all the candy I stole in middle school? I don’t know where I want to go next in my professional career, and I just hired a business development director for my private company and don’t know what the fuck to tell him! I just press send on an email riddled with eight paragraphs and millions of megs of paperwork. I asked him, “Do you have a printer?” He said yes but I don’t think he actually understood the tons of shit I was about to dump in his in-box lol.
I don’t know what car I will drive next or if I will meet my goals for the year. I don’t know where this road I’m on will take me, or if I’m even doing everything I’m supposed to be doing to keep it tight and right. I don’t know if the weed man will EVER call me back or if I’ll find another good one to replace his wack ass. Not knowing is my deepest fear. And I don’t care what anyone says. You can pray and go to church every day of the week and seek God, but the bottom line is that NONE OF US KNOW not even the professional motivational speaker you call Pastah. People I deal with on a daily basis would never sense that about me though. A good actress admits she is doing well and *snap snap* FAAABULOUUS! All the while sneaking :30 second outbursts of tears and Kleenex sniffles at her desk praying nobody walks by and asks the dreaded, “What’s wrong.” Ugh. People that know me see someone organized and on her game. Taking care of her babies by herself with grace and unimaginable parental wisdom. Handling business. They call her “Boss lady”, “Wall street” and some of other, but If they only knew how many tears boss lady has cried in the past two weeks, buggin out on the brink of age 30…seeming to have everything but a fuckin clue and a helping hand. And THAT pisses me off.
So throughout my schizophrenic behavior and friends closest probably thinking WTF?! I’ve realized my own truth. I know this isn’t just for me but for a lot of women out there I know are probably going through the same thing. Let’s share shall we? Let’s. lol
“Life is it what is. As long as you stay connected to the spiritual being that’s watching over you every second of the day you can REEELAX. The beauty of life is not knowing. And it’s not that you’re losing your mind, it’s that you are feeling the growing pains of embarking on all things new in your life path that was pre-written. Change may not be the easiest pill to swallow, but it’s the most constant thing in the world. So when it comes take deep breaths, wipe your face and push through as you dance in the beauty of not knowing everything…but just knowing that everything will be okay. Be easy.”
Here’s to counting every single blessing and sniffing the fresh air of change every chance we get. Glasses up ladies! Now take it to the head. (or smoke one instead)
-black girl.
Black Girl In The City. 
